


Accidental

by beesandjam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Basically Jim Being Stupid, it's almost crack, russian translation, tired, yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesandjam/pseuds/beesandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian accidentally breaks into Jim’s flat while drunk, mistaking it to be a friend’s who lives next door. He ends up camping out on what he thinks is his friend’s couch, but really he’s just broken into London’s consulting criminal’s apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental

**Author's Note:**

> So this was from that one prompt thing floating around tumblr and was basically a writing warm up for another work. Please ignore any typos- like I said, warmup.
> 
> _Read this work in[Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2249643)._

Jim’s eyes open with a jerk. He glances over to his clock, groans at the time, and rolls over. But something is wrong…something isn’t right.

In the air there’s a trace of alcohol—beer, actually. He hasn’t consumed alcohol in the flat since last week. The scent wouldn't be even near what it was. Why would he smell it?

In order to investigate, Jim swings his lanky legs over the bedside and squints his eyes shut. Five hours and twenty-three minutes of sleep does not do him well when he hasn’t slept in half a week, but he's been busy. He's had appointments to get to. So the lack of sleep means nothing to him, because he's gotten work done.

Once his feet are firmly structured on the ground, he presses off the bed and maneuvers his way to the door.

Jim threads his palm through his thick, inky hair as he walks through the kitchen. Once through the small corridor, he spots the owner of the scent.

A young man around the age of twenty-five sleeps on his leather couch—his shirt is on the floor, and his skin is covered with a thin film of sweat. Jim eyes him for a while, not doing anything in particular to wake him. But then he runs to the kitchen. He clutches on to a steak knife. And he throws the knife with precision at the fabric just behind the blond man's ear.

Jim spots the stranger's hand fumble up to where the knife is, pull it out with a single heave, and stick the blade into the carpet. This is done without the shaking of his hand or opening his eyes.

Because he's incredibly agitated at this point, Jim says monotonously, "Wake up."

But the sleeping stranger doesn't move.

"WAKE UP."

He shifts on the couch so that his back is facing Jim. He starts to snore.

Jim can't be bothered any more. If he won't wake up, Jim won't instigate any further. Instead, he allows the man time to sleep. He waits for him to wake on his own.

When the stranger does wake, which is approximately sixty-seven minutes later, Jim's perched on top of his armchair, his Beretta 92FS pointed straight at him. He does not jerk in surprise or make any exclamations of confusion. Instead, he sits up, rubs his palms into his eyes, and mumbles casually, "Well, this is a bit awkward."

"Just quite," Jim replies, gun still pointed. "Name."

"Mine? Sebastian Moran," says Sebastian. He puts his hands behind his back and relaxes into the couch. "What's with the gun?"

Jim Moriarty's demeanor changes instantly. He stands up on the chair and yells, "I HAVE THE BEST SECURITY SYSTEM IN THE WORLD. AND YOU STILL MANAGED TO GET THROUGH WHILE DRUNK! DRUNK!"

"My bad," says Sebastian with a shrug. He continues to ignore the gun.

Jim watches Sebastian for a moment and considers his options. Killing this man would only add to his work. He has enough to do today. His expression changes again and he says with a smirk, "You know what? Never mind."

Sebastian only eyes him confusedly.

“Work for me, or I’ll have you killed,” Jim seethes.

“I’m not doing anything,” replies Seb. He stands up, slips on his discarded shirt, and pockets his hands. “Sounds like fun.”

Jim slips down the side of the chair and takes a step towards Seb. “No questions? None at all?” he asks, eyes wide with mock. It has a tendency to drip out of his mouth when he speaks.

“Nope, although it would be nice if you told me what I’ll be doing.”

“You have a steady hand. Can you shoot?”

"I have perfect aim." Seb only smirks as the words ease over his lips.

Jim watches him curiously and doesn't gift him with a response. He glances at the time. He needs to get moving soon for his first client of the day. The consulting criminal has a busy agenda.

"So, boss, what's my first order?"


End file.
